CHAPTER XXIV
NOVEMBER THE 2D
A dreary day, with a leaden sky overhead and the monotonous patter ofincessant rain against the window panes.
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had just come downstairs, and opening the doorwhich lead from the hall to the small withdrawing-room on the right, hesaw Mistress de Chavasse, half-sitting, half-crouching in one of thestiff-backed chairs, which she had drawn close to the fire.
There was a cheerful blaze on the hearth, and the room itself--beingsmall--always looked cozier than any other at Acol Court.
Nevertheless, Editha's face was pallid and drawn, and she stared intothe fire with eyes which seemed aglow with anxiety and even with fear.Her cloak was tied loosely about her shoulders, and at sight of SirMarmaduke she started, then rising hurriedly, she put her hood over herhead, and went towards the door.
"Ah! my dear Editha!" quoth her brother-in-law, lightly greeting her,"up betimes like the lark I see.... Are you going without?" he added asshe made a rapid movement to brush past him and once more made for thedoor.
"Yes!" she replied dully, "I must fain move about ... tire myself outif I can ... I am consumed with anxiety."
"Indeed?" he retorted blandly, "why should you be anxious? Everything isgoing splendidly ... and to-night at the latest a fortune of nigh onL500,000 will be placed in my hands by a fond and adoring woman."
He caught the glitter in her eyes, that suggestion of power and ofunspoken threats which she had adopted since the episode in the BathStreet house. For an instant an ugly frown further disfigured his sourface: but this frown was only momentary, it soon gave way to a suavesmile. He took her hand and lightly touched it with his lips.
"After which, my dear Editha," he said, "I shall be able to fulfillthose obligations, which my heart originally dictated."
She seemed satisfied at this assurance, for she now spoke in lessaggressive tones:
"Are you so sure of the girl, Marmaduke?" she asked.
"Absolutely," he replied, his thoughts reverting to a day spent at Dovernearly three months ago, when a knot was tied of which fair Editha wasnot aware, but which rendered Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse very sure of afortune.
"Yet you have oft told me that Sue's love for her mysterious prince hadvastly cooled of late!" urged Editha still anxiously.
"Why yes! forsooth!" he retorted grimly, "Sue's sentimental fancy forthe romantic exile hath gone the way of all such unreasoningattachments; but she has ventured too far to draw back.... And she willnot draw back," he concluded significantly.
"Have a care, Marmaduke! ... the girl is more willful than ye wot of....You may strain at a cord until it snap."
"Pshaw!" he said, with a shrug of his wide shoulders, "you are sufferingfrom vapors, my dear Editha ... or you would grant me more knowledge ofhow to conduct mine own affairs.... Do you remember, perchance, that thebulk of Sue's fortune will be handed over to her this day?"
"Aye! I remember!"
"Begad, then to-night I'll have that bulk out of her hands. You may takean oath on that!" he declared savagely.
"And afterwards?" she asked simply.
"Afterwards?"
"Yes ... afterwards? ... when Sue has discovered how she has beentricked? ... Are you not afraid of what she might do? ... Even thoughher money may pass into your hands ... even though you may inveigle herinto a clandestine marriage ... she is still the daughter of the lateEarl of Dover ... she has landed estates, wealth, rich and powerfulrelations.... There must be an 'afterwards,' remember! ..."
His ironical laugh grated on her nerves, as he replied lightly:
"Pshaw! my dear Editha! of a truth you are not your own calm selfto-day, else you had understood that forsooth! in the love affairs ofPrince Amede d'Orleans and Lady Susannah Aldmarshe there must and can beno 'afterwards.'"
"I don't understand you."
"Yet, 'tis simple enough. Sue is my wife."
"Your wife! ..." she exclaimed.
"Hush! An you want to scream, I pray you question me not, for what I sayis bound to startle you. Sue is my wife. I married her, having obtaineda special license to do so in the name of Prince Amede Henri d'Orleans,and all the rest of the romantic paraphernalia. She is my wife, andtherefore, her money and fortune are mine, every penny of it, withoutquestion or demur."
"She will appeal to the Court to have the marriage annulled ... she'llrouse public indignation against you to such a pitch that you'll not beable to look one of your kith and kin in the face.... The whole shamefulstory of the mysterious French prince ... your tricks to win the hand ofyour ward by lying, cheating and willful deceit will resound from oneend of the country to the other.... What is the use of a mint of moneyif you have to herd with outcasts, and not an honest man will shake youby the hand?"
"None, my dear Editha, none," he replied quietly, "and 'tis of stillless use for you to rack your nerves in order to place before me agruesome picture of the miserable social pariah which I should become,if the story of my impersonation of a romantic exile for the purpose ofcapturing the hand of my ward came to the ears of those in authority."
"Whither it doubtless would come!" she affirmed hotly.
"Whither it doubtless would come," he assented, "and therefore, my dearEditha, once the money is safely in my hands I will leave her RoyalHighness the Princesse d'Orleans in full possession, not only of herlanded estates but of the freedom conferred on her by widowhood, forPrince Amede, her husband, will vanish like the beautiful dream which healways was."
"But how? ... how?" she reiterated, puzzled, anxious, scenting somenefarious scheme more unavowable even than the last.
"Ah! time will show! ... But he will vanish, my dear Editha, take myword on it. Shall we say that he will fly up into the clouds and herHighness the Princess will know him no more?"
"Then why have married her?" she exclaimed: some womanly instinct withinher crying out against this outrage. "'Twas cruel and unnecessary."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Cruel perhaps! ... But surely no more than necessary. I doubt if shewould have entrusted her fortune to anyone but her husband."
"Had she ceased to trust her romantic prince then?"
"Perhaps. At any rate, I chose to make sure of the prize.... I haveworked hard to get it and would not fail for lack of a simple ceremony... moreover ..."
"Moreover?"
"Moreover, my dear Editha, there is always the possibility ... remote,no doubt ... but nevertheless tangible ... that at some time or other... soon or late--who knows?--the little deception practiced on Lady Suemay come to the light of day.... In that case, even if the marriage beannulled on the ground of fraud ... which methinks is more than doubtful... no one could deny my right as the heiress's ... hem ... shall wesay?--temporary husband--to dispose of her wealth as I thought fit. If Iam to become a pariah and an outcast, as you so eloquently suggestedjust now ... I much prefer being a rich one.... With half a million inthe pocket of my doublet the whole world is open to me."
There was so much cool calculation, such callous contempt for thefeelings and thoughts of the unfortunate girl whom he had so terriblywronged, in this expose of the situation, that Mistress de Chavasseherself was conscious of a sense of repulsion from the man whom she hadaided hitherto.
She believed that she held him sufficiently in her power, through herknowledge of his schemes and through the help which she was renderinghim, to extract a promise from him that he would share his ill-gottenspoils in equal portions with her. At one time after the fracas in BathStreet, he had even given her a vague promise of marriage; therefore, hehad kept secret from her the relation of that day spent at Dover. Nowshe felt that even if he were free, she would never consent to link herfuture irretrievably with his.
But her share of the money she meant to have. She was tired of poverty,tired of planning and scheming, of debt and humiliation. She was tiredof her life of dependence at Acol Court, and felt a sufficiency of youthand buoyancy in herself yet, to enjoy a final decade of
luxury andamusement in London.
Therefore, she closed her ears to every call of conscience, she shut herheart against the lonely young girl who so sadly needed the counsels andprotection of a good woman, and she was quite ready to lend a helpinghand to Sir Marmaduke, at least until a goodly share of Lady Sue'sfortune was safely within her grasp.
One point occurred to her now, which caused her to ask anxiously:
"Have you not made your reckonings without Richard Lambert, Marmaduke?He is back in these parts, you know?"
"Ah!" he ejaculated, with a quick scowl of impatience. "He hasreturned?"
"Yes! Charity was my informant. He looks very ill, so the wench says: hehas been down with fever, it appears, all the while that he was inprison, and was only discharged because they feared that he would die.He contrived to work or beg his way back here, and now he is staying inthe village.... I thought you would have heard."
"No! I never speak to the old woman ... and Adam Lambert avoids me as hewould the plague.... I see as little of them as I can.... I had to beprudent these last, final days."
"Heaven grant he may do nothing fatal to-day!" she murmured.
"Nay! my dear Editha," he retorted with a harsh laugh, "'tis scarcelyHeaven's business to look after our schemes. But Lambert can do us verylittle harm now! For his own sake, he will keep out of Sue's way."
"At what hour does Master Skyffington arrive?"
"In half an hour."
Then as he saw that she was putting into effect her former resolve ofgoing out, despite the rain, and was once more readjusting her hood forthat purpose, he opened the door for her, and whispered as he followedher out:
"An you will allow me, my dear Editha, I'll accompany you on your walk... we might push on down the Canterbury Road, and perchance meet MasterSkyffington.... I understand that Sue has been asking for me, and Iwould prefer to meet her as seldom as possible just now.... This is mylast day," he concluded with a laugh, "and I must be doubly careful."